


Pretty Tied Up

by Lusa



Series: Vacant Angel [2]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-26
Updated: 2011-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-21 18:35:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lusa/pseuds/Lusa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If he was honest, he had come up with this little fantasy less than two seconds after Jack had waltzed into Torchwood’s autopsy room with the rest of his little team and let him know he could not die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Tied Up

For a man who had spent his entire life making a point of never staying in the same time or place long there was really only one thing that had remained constant, which was that he loved fucking Jack, and he was not too picky on the details. If he wanted to overanalyze things he probably would have said it was because once upon a time they had almost had something like a nice, normal, romantic relationship, and since he did not really do those he had idealized it and never moved on. Whatever. The point was John was buried deep inside him and it was hot and tight and perfect and a whole string of adjectives like that.

He knew Jack was phoning it in – not just this half-assed excuse for a rebound pity party or whatever it was they had at the moment but life in general. He walked and talked and ate and slept but it was like watching a windup toy going through the motions without any meaning. Right now, for example, he was making all the right noises as John thrust into him and touching him in all the right places but his eyes were a million miles away, disinterested and empty. He had moaned and writhed earlier with John’s mouth wrapped around his cock – and really, who wouldn’t? Besides being fantastic at it he knew for a fact he looked amazing giving head. It was the cheekbones – but wherever his mind had been it had not been there. Not that John gave a shit; he had no illusions about whatever the hell it was they had at the moment and if Jack wanted to pretend he was off fucking some dead eye candy secretary or living in a universe where he had not killed his grandson, whatever, it was fine by him. It was not like he expected a damn fairy tale here. Sex with Jack was good even when he was not trying hard.

Still, it never hurt to spice things up a bit. He had kept a switchblade hidden under his pillow for days now, toying with this little fantasy, because sometimes anticipation really did make things better. His lips caught Jack’s, the kiss sloppy and wet and delicious as his hand reached under the pillow, pulled out the knife and buried it in Jack’s heart. The hideous, choking gasp he made as he jerked back from the kiss reflexively before his head landed limply on the pillow was almost as gratifying as the eruption of blood as John yanked the blade out, dropping it to the floor and letting it drip on the cheap carpet.

It was a nasty way to die, and it probably hurt like hell, which really just made things more exciting. The spray of blood had painted their chests and most of the bed, warm and sticky and pretty as a picture. He laughed in delight, dragging his tongue across the wound before kissing Jack again, smearing the stuff across both their faces and not caring in the slightest. The blood had worked its way down between their bodies, making everything as smooth and easy as flying. His cock was filthy with it, slicking Jack’s limp body more with every thrust. It was not the first time he had fucked a corpse, but it was definitely going to be his favorite.

If he was honest, he had come up with this little fantasy less than two seconds after Jack had waltzed into Torchwood’s autopsy room with the rest of his little team and let him know he could not die. Because honestly, think about the possibilities with something like that. Every nasty little fetish and fantasy could suddenly go just that much further and pain did not even matter when a partner could just shrug off injury and death. He had always liked to play a little rough, but he did have a bad habit of breaking his toys. Sometimes the things he ended up in rehab for overlapped – sex and murder, for example.

He could feel Jack going cold beneath him, his limp body shuddering slackly with every thrust, eyes still staring glazed at the ceiling, honestly not looking much different from the way they did when he was alive these days. He’d had a long time to learn every detail about what Jack was like in bed, and now, suddenly, everything was different. None of the usual rules or reactions applied, it was all unpredictable and dangerous and exciting all over again and he fucking loved it. This was the reason he had failed all those rehabs; because they had never once been able to convince him anything else could possibly be better than this. Why give all that up when there were beautiful moments like this one to look forward to?

The sudden spasm that ripped through Jack as he gasped and coughed his way back into life was all it took to send him over the edge, and he came so hard he could swear he was seeing stars. The horrified expression on Jack’s face as he realized what had just happened was more real emotion than he had seen there in days and John really could not care less because he was honestly having a hard time thinking of a more perfect moment than this. He laughed again, breathless and delighted, giving Jack one more kiss before rolling off him and grabbing the bottle of booze he had left sitting on the nightstand. His fingers left bloody smears on the glass and dripped onto the table as he grabbed it, but really with the state of the sheets it was going to be the last of the cleaning staff’s worries. He took a swig from it, the alcohol dribbling down his chin to mix with the blood.

Turning slightly he held it out to Jack who stared at it for a moment before silently taking the bottle from his bloodstained hands and drinking. The man he had partnered with at the Time Agency would have started a fight over what he had just done, and it probably would have ended in more sex. The Captain who ran Torchwood would have given him an insufferable lecture about being a changed man and not wanting anything to do with him and his debauched ways. The Jack who was currently lying in bed next to him looked caught between the two; offended and faintly sick over what had just happened, but with the slightest touch of twisted satisfaction, like he could not decide If he loved this because it finally let him feel something, or because he though, after everything he had done, maybe he deserved it a little bit. Personally John did not give a shit about whatever little rational Jack was using to work though his damn problems. Once he got through them he would leave, and they both knew it. For now he was happy to ignore that fact and have as much fun as he could before then.

Taking final sip of the now empty bottle he tossed it clumsily to the floor before snuggling closer to Jack, letting him drape an arm around him as he settled his head on his blood smeared shoulder and sighed contentedly. It was, in his opinion, one of their better dates.


End file.
